


Keep Warm & Let Rest

by APgeeksout



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Food as a Metaphor for Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 22:02:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17650703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/APgeeksout/pseuds/APgeeksout
Summary: Sami shakes his head, exasperated, though his voice is not unkind when he replies.  “You remember that I had surgery on my arm once, too, right? Recently enough to remember how much it sucked.  I know you’re not feeling good.”





	Keep Warm & Let Rest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SapphoIsBurning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphoIsBurning/gifts).



> Set ~ January 2018, in an AU where there are no heel-turns to contend with and Dean’s recovery from injury has been frustrating but routine and uncomplicated.

“You really don’t have to entertain me, you know?” Sami says again, casting a glance back over his shoulder from where he stands at the sink, running water into a deep mixing bowl full of dried chickpeas.

“You telling me I shouldn’t enjoy the show?”

The countertops on either side of Sami’s post at the sink are covered with store bags spilling over with tomatoes and eggplant and zucchini, honey and garlic and lemons, bundles and bunches and stalks of fresh green stuff Dean can’t identify by sight. There’s a little lopsided pyramid on the stovetop, built of parcels wrapped in paper stamped with the logo of the halal butcher shop they’d scoped out last time Sami was in town. A couple of cabinet doors to his left still hang open, probably from Sami’s effort to hunt up the big bowl without bugging him for its location.

Sami doesn’t look exactly at ease in his kitchen. Doesn’t stop him from looking really good there.

“No, just, you’re supposed to be recuperating.” The beans rattle against the sides of the bowl as Sami sifts through them, hands moving rapid-fire as he turns again to look back at him. “Go. Get comfortable. Rest. I’ll come find you in a minute.”

“I look uncomfortable?” Dean asks from his seat at the table, and makes a grand gesture with his good arm that sweeps in his feet kicked up in the seat of a second chair and his post-op elbow elevated on a flat pillow propped on the tabletop.

Sami shakes his head, exasperated, though his voice is not unkind when he replies. “You remember that I had surgery on my arm once, too, right? Recently enough to remember how much it sucked. I know you’re not feeling good.”

“Might even go so far as to say I _falafel_ ,” he deadpans.

Sami gives a heartfelt groan and turns off the tap. “I came all this way to make you comfort food, and this is the thanks I get?” He leans back against the counter and wipes his hands on a towel. “Stubbornness and terrible, terrible puns?”

“What can I say, baby? I’m a giver." He breaks into a grin. "Do me a favor and pass that one on to Becky. She’ll appreciate my genius for sure.”

“Hey! I appreciate you!” Sami protests, loud and cheerfully outraged, and Dean feels the warmth behind it sink in to his bones even as he laughs it off. Sami tosses the towel blindly away onto the counter, where it falls across the mountains of produce. He closes the space between them in a few springy steps, catches Dean’s jaw between his hands, and bends down to kiss his temple, his scruffy cheek, his mouth. “I’d just _also_ appreciate it if you’d take care of yourself, ‘cause you’re kind of important to me.”

The way he’s arranged at the table - and the way Sami’s being so careful with him - means he can’t do much more to keep him close than curve his good hand against his hip. He does, and Sami straightens up and steps in a little closer. Just enough to tuck Dean's face against his stomach while he smooths a hand over his tangled hair.

He lets himself rest there for a minute, sagging into the steadiness and warmth of Sami’s body and breathing in lemon and sharp herbs, sunshine and the world outside from the soft cotton of his t-shirt. One of Sami’s hands sets to rubbing circles into the back of his neck, and he feels himself melt further into the touch. He figures this is part of why Sami finagled a four-day weekend here with him: to spend the time softening him up, slowly soaking him in affection until he breaks down into something palatable. Recipe not many people have the patience for.

He’s been through worse. Probably. It’s just that he’s so much more familiar with being tenderized like a bad cut of beef, one hammer blow at a time.

“You’ve done this dance before,” he says eventually, “and you know me.” He squirms a little - if pressed, he might even admit that it’s something like a shimmy - though he’s careful not to knock Sami’s hands away. “So, you gotta know how _tired_ I am of resting.”

"That's because you've been doing it on your own," Sami says. "It's way easier with company. Remember when you came to see me?"

He does: snapping together a Lego UFO, dishing up a perfect greasy breakfast-for-dinner, working good lather into red hair in the steam of the shower, shifting in a nest of clean sheets to mouth a line of kisses down the center of his chest while Sami’s good hand carded into his hair, listening to a drowsy - but very detailed - history of Archie Andrews and his crew, watching Sami sleep easy from the next pillow. He hums an acknowledgment into Sami’s belly and nods, rubbing his face into his shirt, content, just for now, not to be a pain in the ass.

"Best - or I don't know, least terrible - part of rehab,” Sami continues. “Let me return the favor.”

“I’ll save you a spot on the couch, I guess,” he grumbles.  It’s not exactly what he means to say to that, or at least not all he wants to say; it doesn’t do anything to get across that he doesn’t want there to be any favors to trade or scores to keep between them.

“Sounds perfect,” Sami says, unfazed and gives his hair a gentle tug. “Find us something dumb to watch.”

He lets Sami back away and help him back to his feet. Before he moves for the living room, he leans in and kisses him, long and slow, deeper and with more intent than he has since Sami and his whole farmstand showed up in his kitchen. Maybe the kiss communicates some of what he hasn’t said straight out, going by how softly Sami smiles at him as he nudges him toward the doorway.

Maybe he’ll manage to be more articulate yet after he lets Sami feed him up.


End file.
